


Of Broccoli Pizza and Angry Mutant Roses

by imma_redshirt



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 1991), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 11:13:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21207599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imma_redshirt/pseuds/imma_redshirt
Summary: Drake certainly hadn't started the day planning to introduce his crush and sidekick to his daughter over broccoli pizza after fighting a giant mutant rose bush, but he's glad it turned out that way. It's nice.The evening might actually go pretty smoothly!... until it doesn't.





	Of Broccoli Pizza and Angry Mutant Roses

**Author's Note:**

> For Fictober prompt 7, “No, and that’s final.”
> 
> Timeline: post "The Duck Knight Returns" but pre "Moonvasion!" Some canon divergence because Drake has already adopted Gosalyn here (I mean I'm assuming he hasn't done so in Ducktales yet, I'm not really sure? I've kinda been living under a rock lately.)

“Dad! What happened? You look like tried to trim an angry mutant rose bush and the rose bush fought back.”

With one hand rubbing his aching shoulder, Drake repeated the lie he had rehearsed on the way over to pick Gosalyn up from school. “Stunt double didn’t make it onto set today. They had me doing my own stunts, can you believe that?”

Even though the Darkwing Duck movie had been scrapped months ago and Drake had lost the most important acting gig of his career, he’d told Gos that he was shooting some scenes for a possible tv series rather than a movie (since the media had been all over the movie’s cancellation.) He also told her they were supposed to keep that bit of news secret. Thankfully, she’d kept it to herself, and she seemed to believe him. 

So far.

“What, like you didn’t jump at the chance to do your own stunts?” Gos said. She crossed her arms and gave him a look that was halfway between amused and exasperated, and Drake was once again reminded of how well his daughter knew him, because she wasn’t wrong--he loved doing his own stunts. Especially once he found out years ago that Jim Starling himself never let a stunt double even consider showing their face on set. The guy had done it all on his own, and every broken bone and busted tooth and swollen eye courtesy of a botched stunt while filming had been a point of pride for the late actor. 

Gosalyn had found out about Drake’s idol very soon after they became a family. It wasn’t hard, really, with posters and collectibles sprinkled throughout the two bedroom apartment. Still, she’d quickly become familiar with Drake’s habits and traits, to the point where Drake was sure she could read his mind. She knew her father well.

She knew him _too_ well. It was going to be a difficult job keeping his new side-job a secret, he thought with a wince. 

“Ok, _ok_, true, you got me,” he said, knowing full well he hadn’t stepped foot on any set of any kind that morning. “I may have agreed to do the stunts before they could call in the replacement stunt double--but you know what? It was all for the best in the end, I think I did a pretty good job!”

“And got a bunch of cuts and bruises all over the place,” Gosalyn said. 

Together they began to walk across the pavilion to the sidewalk, where just around the corner was a St. Canard Metro bus stop. Drake liked to ride the public bus with Gosalyn back home after school as often as he could, as long as he wasn’t stuck in an afternoon shift at Starducks or on set (or, more recently, caught up in a fight in his now endless crusade against crime.) Sometimes, if they had an hour to spare, they jumped off on Hyacinth Lane to pick up frozen yogurt, sit at one of the tables outside the restaurant under a wide multicolored umbrella, and chat about their day. On the days when Drake wasn’t able to pick her up, she rode the school bus back to the apartment and stayed the afternoon with Mrs. Vega until Drake was done with work. 

By this time it was routine for them, so when Drake began to walk towards the Student Pick-Up Zone instead of towards the street, Gosalyn paused and tugged on his sleeve. 

“Uh, Dad? Aren’t we going to the bus?”

“Oh, not today,” Drake said. “I--”

“Bought a car?” Gosalyn gasped and her eyes went wide. She gripped his arm. “Is it a Jeep? Did you buy a Jeep, Dad?”

“What?” Drake snorted. “No—”

“With four-wheel drive?”

“I didn’t buy—” 

“Does it have seat warmers?”

“I did _not_ buy a—”

“Can we take if off-roading?”

“Okay, first of all, that’s way too dangerous, and second of all, I didn’t buy a—”

“Can I drive it home and--wait,” Gosalyn finally paused, probably to take a breath because Drake hadn’t noticed her breathe at all during her bombardment of questions, and then crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “How can we afford a Jeep?”

“I didn’t buy a Jeep!” Drake said. “And we _can’t_ afford one. A friend drove me over today, and he’s offered to drive us home.”

“Oooh,” Gosalyn said. She narrowed her eyes at him. “A friend, huh?”

“Yeah,” Drake said slowly, narrowing his eyes back at her as they continued towards the parking lot.

“Is this the same friend who gave you a ride back from Duckburg when you were filming that Darkwing Duck movie? And the same friend you ate lunch with last week?” 

Drake frowned. He shouldn’t be surprised that she remembered Launchpad had dropped him off late at night after that awful debacle at McDuck Studios over two months ago. He’d walked Drake to his apartment, and Gosalyn had seen him in the hall. Drake had a black eye and aching muscles for days afterwards, and she’d asked a million questions as soon as he picked her up from Mrs. Vega’s apartment--who hit him? Why was he limping? Why was his Darkwing Duck costume soaked? Had he eaten dinner? Why did he look sad? Who _was_ that guy? And why had he shared a conspirator-like wink with Drake that was obviously supposed to be a secret wink but Gosalyn had seen it anyway?

Drake had answered that they’d just had a bad day on set, and Launchpad was just an extra who had driven him home, and Gosalyn had stared at him suspiciously for a full thirty seconds before shrugging and asking if he wanted to play Super Mario Race Karts with her while he let the ice pack rest over his swollen eye. 

He _was_ a little surprised she’d figured out that Launchpad was the friend who he’d met for lunch last Thursday. “Lunch” was a bit of an understatement--sure, they’d met at a nice little cafe that Drake liked over in St. Canard’s Art District, the one that sold those “Sundaes For Two” with the freshest, sweetest cherries, cold turtle shell chocolate, fluffy whipped cream, and strawberry and vanilla ice cream that swirled down to the bottom of the tall glass like two pastel clouds wrapping around each other with little star shaped sprinkles and candy hearts—

…not that he’d considered ordering that for him and Launchpad to share, pffft, of course not, why would he?

...ok, maybe he’d considered it a little bit.

Not that it had been a date. It had felt like one at first, sure, but they hadn't planned it that way! Unless Launchpad had considered it a date. Drake had never asked him. Should he have asked him? It was too late now, he thought. 

The point was, they’d met at the cafe to have fresh sandwiches and sodas and to discuss crime fighting tactics. (Was that what people did on dates? Drake didn't date. It was never something he'd had time for.) Almost immediately afterwards, a group of Beagle Boys had tried to hold up the bookstore next door, and Drake had jumped into action before a certain mechanical know-it-all hero could even think about jumping into his robot armor.

He’d almost broken his leg in the fight, but the Beagle Boys had been bundled off to prison and Launchpad had driven Drake home to recuperate before he picked Gosalyn up from school. Gosalyn had watched him suspiciously while they walked to the bus that day, because Drake had tried not to limp and failed only a little, but there hadn’t been any questions that time.

He supposed it had been too much to hope for every crime fighting day to go as smoothly.

“Why do you ask?” He said, as nonchalantly as you please. 

“Well,” Gos said, and stopped in her tracks. Drake paused and crossed his arms. “How come every time you meet this guy, you come back looking like someone threw you into a wood chipper?”

“I don’t look like someone threw me into a woodchipper!” Drake said, scandalized. 

“Look at you, Dad!” Gos gestured at him and all the bandages on his arms and the hastily plastered gauze over his brow. 

“I told you,” Drake said quickly, “The stunt double--”

“Didn’t show up, yeah, I know,” Gos said. “You know what I heard at school today, though? The other kids were saying that some guy in a Darkwing Duck costume was fighting a monster plant over in the park like an hour ago.” She paused and stepped closer, hands on her hips, and narrowed her eyes again. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you, Dad?”

Drake’s mind sped through a billion excuses. “Oh, that! Well, uh…”

So when she’d mentioned a mutant rose bush earlier, she’d meant it--and she’d been right. The city had been plagued by plants that were coming to life for the past three days, and Drake had been busting his tail feathers just trying to keep up with taking them down and protecting innocent bystanders. The latest anomaly--an eight foot tall rose bush with a mouthful of teeth-like thorns and that had an appetite for superhero ducks, apparently--had finally lost its energy and turned back into a normal plant only minutes before school let out for the day. 

Mrs. Vega had fallen ill the day before, and Drake hadn’t been able to find someone to watch Gosalyn that day in case he wasn’t able to make it. So Launchpad had driven Drake over from the park to the school while Drake changed out of his suit in the back of the limo and quickly tried to bandage up the wide gash over his brow. 

He had no idea how where to even begin to look for answers as to why innocent potted plants were suddenly climbing the food chain and trying to devour whoever crossed their path. So far there had been no evidence at any of the crime scenes, and if he wasn’t careful, his daughter was going to find out his secret before he found his first clue.

“Yeah?” Gosalyn prompted.

“I saw that on the news,” Drake said quickly. “Good thing that guy in the costume showed up, huh?”

He grinned at her, and she frowned. She was going to ask him more questions, he just knew it, which would be pretty dangerous with chattering students and parents moving past them. All he had to do was distract her somehow, divert her attention onto something else until she forgot what she was going to ask him.

Before he could distract her and before she could ask anything at all, a familiar succession of loud honks sounded behind them, and a voice called out, “Hey, D—uh, Drake! Over here!”

Gosalyn looked past Drake. Her eyes went wide. Her jaw dropped. “Is that a _limo?_”

Drake may not have been able to come up with a distraction on the spot, but Luanchpad certainly had. Drake turned around, and parked behind him at the wide curb designated for student pick-ups was Scrooge McDuck’s limo, gleaming under the afternoon sunlight like the dazzling beacon of some army bringing aid to a lone floundering soldier.

“It is,” Drake said, feeling relief at Launchpad’s appearance and then smug at being able to surprise his daughter enough that she just stood there in shocked silence. “And guess what we’re riding home in toda—”

“Can I stick my head out the roof window?” Gosalyn asked and without waiting for an answer, she sped towards the limo and right up to Launchpad, who was leaning out the driver’s window and smiling brightly at her.

“No you can’t!” Drake said frantically, following as quickly as he could.

“Aw, Dad!”

Drake held the passenger door closed before Gosalyn could wrench it open. “No, and that’s final.”

“O-_kay,_” Gosalyn said. She crossed her arms in a huff and then turned back to the Launchpad, who had stepped out of the limo and was watching them patiently. He towered over her, but she didn’t seem the least bit wary. Instead, she narrowed her eyes at him while he continued to smile as brightly as ever at her, and then jabbed a finger up towards his face and said, “I’ve seen you but I don’t know you.”

“Sure don’t!” Launchpad said. “I’m—”

“You drove my dad home from that movie set and then had lunch with him last Thursday at exactly 1 in the afternoon,” she said, surprising Drake. How had she even known the exact time? She was better at detective work than he was!

“Sure did!” Launchpad said. “I—”

“You’re gonna drive us home?”

“Sure am!”

“I’m gonna ask you questions on the road and you’re going to answer.”

“Will do!” 

“And—”

“Okay, that’s enough!” Drake said, exasperated. “Will you at least let me introduce you before you start grilling him for answers?”

Gosalyn shrugged and waited.

“Gos,” Drake said, “This is Launchpad McQuack, a friend of mine that I did have lunch with last Thursday, and please stop going through my pocket calendar and reading my appointments by the way—and Launchpad, this is Gosalyn, my daughter. Who—” He added promptly, before Launchpad could shake Gosalyn’s hand. “Owes you an apology for asking a thousand questions before even saying _hello._”

“I’m sorry,” Gosalyn said without pause. She shook Launchpad’s hand. “Can we get going? Everyone’s starting to stare.”

They were. Students and parents alike were staring at the limo and the three people who were standing outside it arguing. With a chuckle, Launchpad opened the rear passenger door for Gosalyn to climb right in. “One drive home, coming right up!”

Before he closed the door, he bent over to smile at Gosalyn and said, “And nice to meet you, Gos!”

“Nice to meet you too, Mr. McQuack,” Gosalyn said cheerfully, all aggressiveness apparently gone. She tossed her backpack to the limo floor and immediately turned to press every single button on the arm rest. “What do all of these do? What happens if I press all of them at once? Is there a mini fridge anywhere in here? I’ve seen movies where rich guys have wine bottles in their limos. Ooh and you know what? Héctor from Algebra says there are secret buttons in some limos that connect to super secret government lines all the way in Washington—”

“Seatbelt!” Drake ordered, and shut the door before she could complain. Next to him, Launchpad was opening the front passenger door for him, because in the front seat was an ice pack Drake was looking forward to resting a bruised elbow on, which he didn’t need Gosalyn to ask another billion questions about. He smiled at Launchpad gratefully, but before climbing in, said, “I’m sorry about that, she’s just very—”

“Protective of you, I get it,” Launchpad finished. “Gosh, Drake, it’s nothing to apologize for. I think we’re off to a great start so far anyway!”

Suddenly, the rear passenger door window rolled down and Gosalyn, wearing sunglasses (where had she even found those?) stuck her head out the window. “Are you coming over for dinner? Or are we going out? How do you feel about pizza and pasta? Dad’s a pretty good cook, he makes the best broccoli pizza in the whole city!”

“I love pizza,” Launchpad said excitedly. He paused and looked at Drake with puppy dog eyes. “But it’s all up to your dad—”

“Alright,” Drake said. He’d been hoping to use the ready-made taco shells in the cabinet with some leftover tofu crumbles and salsa and the last bit of shredded cheese in the fridge for a quick dinner, but how was he supposed to say no to Launchpad and now Gosalyn who were looking at him like that? Besides, while Gos dragged Launchpad over to the living room after dinner to play whatever game she was obsessed with now, Drake would have time to change his bandages without being bothered by prying eyes and unavoidable questions. “I’ll make pizza, but we’re all cleaning up afterwards!”

“Sure!” Gosalyn said before she ducked back into the limo and the window rolled closed.

Drake rolled his eyes to the heavens. “That sounded like a ‘Sure, yeah right, Dad.’”

“Aw, don’t worry, Drake,” Launchpad said, clapping one large, warm hand over Drake’s slumped shoulder. “We’ll help ya out, I’m great at washing dishes! I’ve never broken a whole stack of plates and glasses, ever, that’s definitely a thing I’ve never done—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Drake sighed, and climbed into the passenger seat.

Launchpad closed the door. While Drake buckled in and rested his aching elbow on the ice pack set out for him, Launchpad settled into the driver’s seat and started the engine. As the limo rumbled to life, the two looked at each other in the coolness of the limo’s very effective A/C system and smiled. It was a comforting feeling, picking Gosalyn up from school with Launchpad by his side, and planning a home cooked dinner for a guest. He certainly hadn't started the day planning to introduce his crush and sidekick to his daughter over broccoli pizza after fighting a giant mutant rose bush, but he was glad it had turned out that way. It was nice. And Gosalyn had seemed to warm up to Launchpad pretty quickly after being more suspicious than Drake had anticipated. She’s even forgotten about the questions.

Hey, the evening might actually go pretty smoothly!

"So," Launchpad said, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited for an opening in traffic. "Wooould you consider this a second date then?"

"Second?" Drake blurted. His elbow slipped off the ice pack. "Was Thursday a date?"

"Oh, uh," Launchpad stuttered and Drake felt his stomach drop. He hadn't hurt his feelings, had he? He just hadn't expected the question, and while he'd been thinking about that lunch for the past week, he hadn't really been sure what Launchpad had thought of it. "Well, I--"

“Okay,” came Gosalyn's voice, quite suddenly as the partition window behind him began to slowly roll down. “So, Mr. McQuack, since you’re driving and our safety is pretty important, I think I’m going to hold the questions until dinner. I’m writing them up now.”

“Sounds good!” Launchpad answered quickly, driving the limo into traffic and smiling brightly at Drake as if the previous mess of a conversation hadn't just happened. Drake grinned back as best he could, turned to the window, rubbed at the spot right above his beak, began to tap his beak nervously.

Maybe dinner wasn’t going to go as smoothly as he’d hoped after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
